


The Dawn of Night

by Noctivaga



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Blood Play, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Language, M/M, Mafia!Lock, Mob!Lock, Morally ambiguous John, Sex, Vampire!Mycroft, Vampires, Violence, alcohol use, obsessive and possessive Sherlock, vampire!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 09:50:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1158201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noctivaga/pseuds/Noctivaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Captain John H. Watson, an army doctor, has recently returned home from the war injured and missing his life of meaning and danger. That is, until he finds himself entangled in a secret underground syndicate led by a rather peculiar family. The Holmes, who are ruthless as they are intelligent, run the British government by day and the seedy underbelly of London by night. One particular member of the Holmes family takes an interest in John. Deadly secrets, dangerous adventures, creative murders, and a twist of fate await John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Dawn of Night

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know what I'm doing writing this. But here we go, my first Sherlock fic. This is an AU mob/mafia/vampire fic so be warned; time lines and reality go right out the window. This is purely self-indulgence as I desperately wanted a mob/mafia Sherlock story and could not find one. So I'm writing one, even though I'm aware I don't compare with some of the skilled writers out there that have the abilities to pull this off a lot better than I.
> 
> Yes I'm American. So my geography and knowledge of Britain and its culture is limited at best. I apologize in advance for any mistakes due to my ignorance. I tried my best to use the correct words and places. For now I'm using the American spelling, but I'm hoping to change that around to make it more authentic in the near future.
> 
> This is unbeta'd and is not Brit-picked. Sorry for the glaring mistakes. If anyone wants to let me know of any feel free to so I can go back and fix them for a smoother read.
> 
> On we go. Let's hope this doesn't crash and burn before I get it off the ground. ^^'

**Prologue:**

"Ye . . . aren't worried even a wee bit that I've a gun pointed at yer head?"

John flicked his eyes to the weapon trained on his forehead, gaze cool. After so many years of a similar position to this occurring on a semi-regular schedule, he couldn't say it was shocking anymore. It still caused his blood to pump. The high it used to bring wasn't the same though.

"Not the first time this has happened to me," John admitted, returning his gaze to the masked man.

The stranger looked surprised, black painted eyes widening. "So why aren't ye charging me then?"

"I'm desensitised not stupid," he stated waspishly. But that didn't mean John wasn't assessing the situation, waiting for an opportunity.

The man held the gun with a tight grip; his wrist and arm were taut, fingers white. From the short distance between them John could tell he had been drinking recently, the stench of alcohol irritated his nose. It affected the man's stance. His feet were too far apart, compensating for his lack of balance. The hold he had on the gun was wrong and angled awkwardly.

"If ye're wanderin' the back streets at this time, I think ye might be wantin' to rethinkin' that last part," observed the masked man.

John thinned his lips to hide his smirk.  _I think you got that the wrong way around._

"How about this then," John offered. "Put the gun back in your pocket and we both walk away. No one gets hurt."

Masked man grinned, yellowed decaying teeth winking in the dim light. The small revolver in his hand was shaking a bit as he gestured widely to John. "Bit cocky ain't we?"

John glanced up through his fringe. A trained deadly stillness settled over him. It was enough to intimidate the stranger into taking a step back.

"You really don't want to find out the answer to that."

The man stumbled over a crate, arms shooting out to regain his stability as he careened backwards.  _Now!_  John rushed him, dark eyes locked on the target. His crutch he had been leaning on fell to the ground, forgotten. As he entered striking distance Masked Man was clawing at the brick wall to their right, desperate to correct himself and quickly. Too late.

John's rapid reflexes already were in motion, hitting fast and hard. With precision, John grasped the barrel of the gun and pushed it up only to jerk it back down suddenly. As John did this, he stepped forward and bent the man's wrist back to gain control of the gun and aim it vertically, away from anything vital. A swift well-aimed kick to the leg had his opponent dropping. Now in power of the situation, John grasped the thumb and ripped it back, dislocating it.

A pained yelp escaped the man, echoing off the narrow ally walls. John easily twisted the gun out of the man's hand. Crisis adverted.

The authorities were probably on the way. John clocked response time to be about seven minutes, which meant he had three to vacate the vicinity before a patrol car arrived to respond to the burglar alarm going off.

John snapped his leg out to thrust his foot into Masked Man's solar plexus. He flew back into some rubbish bins, groaning.

John did not want to explain the situation in case the police reached the wrong conclusion, which they seemed to do enough. Quickly then, John stowed the gun in his jacket pocket, snatched up his cane, and walked out to the street, on the backside of the building the twat had been robbing.

 _I have impeccable timing._  Because really, who had the luck to walk by a shop front as it was being robbed at two in the sodding morning?

Checking the street for any cars, John crossed over then cut through another ally. Within two minutes, he was four streets over and on his way once again. Soon the adrenaline stopped and his limp returned. Which meant he'd have to find a faster means of transportation. John's luck seemed to be returning. There was an underground station nearby.

It was a quiet uneventful trip back to his shoddy little flat just outside London. All but for the CCTV cameras that tracked his journey. It had also caught the scuffle he had had with the burglar.

This went unnoticed to John.

It did not fail to catch the attention of another, however.


End file.
